


Are you even real?

by Helpfulfairy92



Category: The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Klaus is a dick for a bit, Soul Bond, for aga, historical setting, little strong language, the p&p au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helpfulfairy92/pseuds/Helpfulfairy92
Summary: Waking up on the forest floor was not a new turn of events for Klaus.He lay there, eyes closed, feeling the sunlight dance across his skin, the breeze blowing through his hair. He sighed, he hadn’t felt this relaxed ever, and it was a delightful feeling.In his relaxation, his mind is drifting when he sees a woman.Or the P&P au that we all deserved
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Are you even real?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekretny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekretny/gifts).



> This is for Aga, my Queen.  
> I am sorry it took so long and that I made you wait for so long, but I hope it's worth the wait, and you are prepared  
> Thank you forever and ever  
> Big big thank you to Kait, I owe you!
> 
> xxx

Klaus idly turns the page of the book he’s reading, his fingers trailing across the rough paper.  
Reading isn’t the right word, as he’s not at all focussed on the words on the pages before him, he’s paying more attention to the sleeping woman in the bed before him.  
Since their harrowing journey by boat and carriage, she had been pleading and crying with a tenacity that had surprised Klaus. More than once he had compelled her to be silent, lest they attract too much attention from the wrong people. Mikael was currently digging through a remote forest in Russia, searching under a false report of white oak. Klaus was sure that a report of his bastard son would be enough for him to abandon the futile search. 

Klaus knew it was futile because he himself had come up with the lie.  
It was making him anxious being on the same continent, though Elijah was quietly confident in their ability to take their father in a fight. 

If Mikael was aware of their journey, their intention, then he would do everything in his considerable power to put a stop to anything that would benefit Klaus.  
While Klaus had the time to wait, he did not have the endless patience needed to wait for the Petrova bloodline to spit out another doppelgänger. 

Elijah had been the opposite of Katerina through their journey, silent and icy in his every interaction with Klaus, and it was wearing Klaus’ patience thin.  
Klaus knew his brother was upset that the girl he loved would again be sacrificed to their families plans.  
Klaus had thought over it a great deal, had come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be so bad to let the girl live. It might even make Elijah genuinely happy for once in their endless lives. 

Though Klaus thought privately that this new girl wasn’t worth his brother's affection, he had learnt his lesson after Rebekah’s disastrous affair with the hunter. He had resolved to not interfere in his siblings' love lives, Rebekah still hadn’t forgiven him for the Alexander situation, and that had been centuries ago.  
He just had to work out the best way to tell Elijah without looking like he had given into his brothers sulking and sighing. 

He thought the best way might be something subtle. 

That’s what he told himself when he sighed, muttering fine, in the quiet carriage as Katerina slept, finally exhausted from her endless wailing.  
Elijah had been surprised, but hadn’t said anything other than a quiet exhale of breath, a softening of his hands against the seat, where they have been clenched into fists for too long. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by a sudden gasp from Katerina, her surprise at his presence loud in the small room.  
“You” she sounded mad, even through the sleep in her voice and he supposed she was mad, he was going to drain her body of all its blood in the next couple of hours.  
“Good afternoon Katerina” he closed the book, and met her angry glare. 

“Can I be alone for a moment?” she ground out, the question costing her something judging from the fists her hands curl into.  
She’s obviously hoping for him to leave so she could start her escape. Unfortunately for her, he would not be leaving her side until his curse was broken. When he told her as much, she scowled, tried to use her femininity as an excuse for the wanted privacy, but he cared little for her delicate sensibilities. Katerina would be afforded no chances to escape again. 

This evening had been coordinated to perfection, he and Katerina and his witch would arrive shortly before the moon was due to reach its zenith, and Elijah was in charge of bringing the werewolf and the vampire.  
Katerina had been spelled as she slept to remain close to him, an added layer of protection.  
Klaus had been careless before, had believed that there was no way a human would be able to out manoeuvre him. 

He liked to think he was smart enough to learn from his past mistakes. 

When they eventually make their way to the forest, Katerina’s steps are forced and halting, and she furiously huffs and grumbles the entire way. If he weren’t so gleeful about what was about to happen, he would have compelled her silence. 

Elijah is there, the werewolf snarling at the newcomers, where the vampire Trevor looks pale, even under his undead pallor, nervous.  
He should, he had betrayed Klaus last time, and his actions would not be forgotten or forgiven, it was a mercy to use him as the vampire sacrifice really. 

Klaus looked to the witch, Elise, awaiting her signal for the ritual to start. She was a stubborn little thing, they’d picked her up in France, where she had been peddling her magical wares for a pittance. She didn’t like Klaus or Elijah, barely tolerated Kol or Rebekah. Klaus often found her muttering under her breath about her dislike for the siblings, though she was content enough to travel with them, enjoying the perks of their wealth.  
Elise tipped her head to the skies, judging the position of the moon, turning to him to announce  
“Five minutes” she said, taking Katerina to her assigned spot, before giving her the elixir, ensuring she swallowed every drop under Elijah’s anxious gaze. 

He turned away from the sacrifices, luxuriating the feel of the moon's pull, the want in his muscles to change, to become the wolf. He wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking, or if the pull was stronger than normal, his wolf closer to the surface than ever before.  
His giddiness at this moment, finally, coming to fruition was overriding all other emotions, this moment was such an age in the making, he could hardly believe it was finally here. 

He spent his remaining five minutes trying and failing to calm his nerves, hands clenching and unclenching.  
His nerves were churning below the surface, his mind whirling with all that could go wrong. There were too many variables, and he definitely did not trust Katerina. 

“It is time” Elise’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to face the circles of fire. 

…………….

Waking up on the forest floor was not a new turn of events for Klaus. 

He wasn’t even sure he was still alive, if he was being honest, his bones felt like they were on fire, too hot to be contained by mere skin.  
He could feel the sunshine across his naked limbs, the soft fluttering of an almost non-existent breeze.  
The grass brushing against his skin left him reeling, nerves tingling.  
There was a new kind of strength rolling under his skin, every inch of his body aching in a delicious way that could only mean one thing. 

He could feel the wolf, stretching after a long night, could feel the sheer happiness of the wolf. It was an odd feeling, both separate from himself, but also not. The thoughts of the wolf were jumbled, a mix of feeling and impression and growls. He would have to learn how to interpret what the wolf was trying to tell him, but the thought is distant, tucked away behind the ache in his bones and the luxurious feeling of new strength. 

He lay there, eyes closed, feeling the sunlight dance across his skin, the breeze blowing through his hair. He sighed, he hadn’t felt this relaxed ever, and it was a delightful feeling.  
In his relaxation, his mind is drifting when he sees a woman. 

She’s sitting under a tree, her blue gown lovely against her soft skin and blond curls. Her face is still rounded by youth, though marred at this present moment by a frown.  
She was looking down at her hands, or, he realised after a moment, her left hand. There was a rather ugly ring adorning her hand, which he recognised as a marriage gift. The thought left an unsavoury taste in his mouth, much to his surprise.  
He watches for a moment, taking in the way she frowns, turning her hand this way and that, it looks almost as if she is admiring the ring, but the frown gives her away as being unhappy with it, or her situation.  
Before too long, she is interrupted by another young woman, and judging by the way she’s dressed, this other girl is her maid.  
“Take heart miss Caroline, it is a fine house, and he is a fine man” 

His heart stutters before doubling in speed. 

Oh

Caroline.  
He can feel the racing of his breath, the stolen blood racing through his body. 

Caroline.  
There’s a crack, loud in the quiet. He doesn't know if it is a tree branch or one of his own bones. 

Caroline.  
His spine shudders, creaking. 

Caroline.  
The wolf snarls in delight, howling, echoing through his head. 

Caroline.  
The wolf is insensible, howling and pulling at his skin, trying to demand a shift from man to beast. 

Caroline. 

Her name bounces around his skull, printing itself onto the marrow in his bones, turning his cool blood to warm honey.  
The bitter taste leaves his mouth, leaving behind a breathlessness he is embarrassed to admit to. 

His hands uncurl from the claws they had settled into, the sharp wolf claws had cut through his skin, and the scent of his blood is heavy in the still air. 

His body that is aching and struggling to maintain its control, the wolf demanding they go and find this girl.  
For a moment, his wolf is in control, and he finds himself on his feet, wildly looking around, bones creaking, there is a brief, fierce internal struggle, ultimately, the vampire wins, pushing the wolf back, though it is a near fight, the vampire only winning out under the wolf’s exhaustion. 

He sinks heavily on the ground, an entirely different person than he was only moments ago. 

…………….

Elijah finds him still sitting on the ground, his head between his knees, shaking fingers holding tightly to his hair, staring blindly at the ground. He wouldn't say he was hysterical, but he definitely cannot control his breath, and his heart is pumping borrowed blood through his body far too quickly. The wolf is growling and howling and pushing insistently against his skin, wanting his action, furious that the man won’t, or can’t, do anything.  
His immense confusion working against the single thread of concentration that was keeping his wolf contained.  
His brother, kindly doesn't say anything, merely helps him to his feet, handing him articles of clothing that he pulls on, before gently leading him out of the forest.  
Klaus allows himself to be led, the long trek through the trees silent save for the occasional crack of twigs underfoot. 

If Elijah was concerned about his silence, he doesn’t say anything, though Klaus knows he will be curious about what is going on.  
Klaus himself is burning with questions, unsure about what that was, why his wolf had reacted so strongly.  
His wolf was still insistently pushing to take over, to shift and hunt this girl down, to find her, make her his, bind her to his wolf and the man in a way that leaves nothing to chance. 

He needed to speak with Elise, and then he needed to kill something. 

Or several things. 

…………….

A mate.  
The second he recovers his wolf, he is saddled with a mate. The feeling leaves him reeling, unsure if he is happy or furious, or disappointed. A mate is a weakness, something that can and will be exploited by his enemies.  
His wolf is delighted, furious that the man will not do anything, can not do anything.  
He sees her countless more times over his years. 

Countless.  
In all sorts of situations, some with and some without him.  
After so many years, he has his favourite memories that he revisits again and again. The curve of her jaw, her smile, the collection of freckles across her nose. Them together, her saying his name, the way her hand looks curled with his. 

It’s usually when his mind is drifting, right before sleep, or if he’s especially bored.  
It’s in that moment, as he’s drifting that he feels the warmth of fingers across his cheek, catching on a stubble he doesn’t have. There’s a flash of soft pink lips, and honey curls and she’s gone.  
He spends an embarrassing amount of years reliving his most favourite moments, tracing the line of her jaw when he can’t sleep, reliving the moments of absolute bliss until she is in his arms. 

In that lovely warm space between sleep and wakefulness, feeling like he was bathed in sunshine, when she is before his eyes. 

The back of her actually.  
There is the honey hay sunshine hair, not in loose curls this time, but gathered high on her head, pearls and diamonds twinkling in the low candlelight. 

The length of her neck is bare, a lovely elegant curve of peaches and cream, stray strands of hair clinging to her.  
There is one lovely hand resting on the back of her neck.  
He takes in every single thing he can see, the crease of her fingers, the blush of her nails, the way the soft light reflects off the ring she’s wearing on her right index finger. 

She’s wearing a soft looking shirt. It’s too wide in the shoulders, slipping off one shoulder to show a smattering of freckles, lovely against the cream of her shoulder.  
(He realises later that the shirt looks more like it was made for him, the width of the shoulders would fit him exactly. He isn’t sure how to process the resulting delighted possessiveness he feels)

Her head is tipped to the side, and the line of her shoulders is tired, though he isn’t sure how he knows, but he is sure of it.  
She looks as if she is about to turn, though the moment ends as fast as it had begun. 

The glimpse is only brief, enough time to fill a blink of his eye, but he has seen everything.  
Each time he sees her, he is no less equipped than last time. The visions leave him even more on edge than the last time, and he spends moments catching his breath, it feels like he has no air left in his lungs, skin tight, and his desire is a real tangible thing under his skin. 

…………….

One image takes him by surprise, right in the middle of a meal.  
He’s seated at a table next to some Lord or another. He is so very bored, it feels like at any moment he would fall asleep. He’s sure that even if he did, the idiot next to him wouldn’t notice.  
He gets so bored of the small political machinations of the humans, especially when he is searching for a much bigger outcome than who will be at the right hand of the king.  
This moment strikes right as he is lifting food to his mouth.  
To anyone else, there is an imperceptible pause, but to him, it feels like a lifetime. 

And oh, what a lifetime it is. 

Because this time, it isn’t just her hand.  
No, it’s her hand all wrapped around and intertwined with his, washed in sunshine and the amount of want that bubbles up in him takes him off guard more than the sudden image.  
He doesnt recognise his own hand, the softer lines of her hand making him look gentler, or maybe it’s the way he’s holding her hand that’s soft. He marvels at the sight, her fingers are topped in a scandalous red nail colour, there is a streak of blood on his hand, but she’s holding onto him so tight it doesn't seem to matter.  
The moment ends as quickly as it had come on, and he clears his throat, and continues lifting his food, no one notices but Elijah, his brother raising an eyebrow in question across the table. 

…………….

One time he is hiding in a tree, keeping away from Bekah, who had been lecturing him on the importance of keeping his hybrids in line.  
It’s not his finest moment, but he’d rather be in this tree than where Bekah can lecture him yet again.  
Sitting in his tree with his book he’s enjoying a rare moment of quiet that isn’t filled with family drama or some kind of revenge or running from Mikael when it hits.

Or rather, she does. 

Right in his face, he can feel the sting of the slap, though he isn’t the one she had hit, rather, he watched her hit someone else.  
The last time he had seen that hand it was soft, pliant, relaxed.  
This time the hand is hard, a weapon wielded with the utmost competence.  
The crack it makes as it connects is endlessly satisfying.  
He’s quite proud of her, her hand print is stark against the cheek of the dark haired vampire she had slapped.  
He traces the trajectory of her hand as it returns to her side, watches the twitch of her fingers as if she wants to hit again, but her fingers curl, and it looks like she is holding herself back from striking out again. Her curls shiver with the force of her slap, he hears her cursing and demanding answers from the man she had slapped, though the vampire doesn't answer her.  
He tries to take in everything else around her, to remember what had caused the hit, but he is so preoccupied with the movement of her hand curling into a fist that he can’t quite focus on anything else. 

He topples right off the tree branch when there’s a throat clearing from below, snapping him out of the lovely moment.

…………….

The moment that truly confounds him, her lovely eyes are filled with tears, tracing down her cheeks.  
The sight makes his heart stutter in his chest, he usually has no regard for tears, they mean nothing to him, but this?  
This hurts more than he had ever expected.  
She’s standing, hand in his again, though it’s a very different image than last time.  
She’s wearing an extremely short black dress, he’s never seen a woman wear such a short dress. Most ladies' shifts were longer than what she was wearing, stopping around her knees, flaring out into a skirt that looked very flattering on her legs. Her very bare legs.  
He allows a (long) moment to linger on her legs, before flitting back up to her face. The tears make tracks down her cheeks, never ending twin rivers.  
Her eyes are very clear, slightly red around the edges, but they are clearly green, and he can see the vampire veins working under her eyes, though they are faint, and he doubts anyone but his siblings could see them.  
She keeps the vampire veins down, but makes no attempt to stop the tears. He isn’t sure, but he thinks she looks bored, even as the tears continue to fall  
He takes the moment to memorise the arch of her eyebrows, the line of her nose, the bow of her lips, that delightfully confounding mix of honey, hay and sunshine in her hair, the peaches of her cheeks.  
He feels as if he can never have enough moments to memorise her face, he would need a hundred more to even come close to storing it away.  
He vows to commit it to paper as soon as he can, looks forward to tracing his fingers over her face. 

…………….

His least favourite is an image that stays with him far longer than he’s willing to admit. 

He’s sitting beside a river, sketching. It’s not a new hobby, though he has never had quite so much time to dedicate to it. His father had always tried to stomp out the smallest piece of joy he had, and that included any form of art.  
She looks magnificent, divine even.  
She’s laying on her back, against something white. He thinks it could be a bed, curls a riotous mess around her head, neck arched mouth open in a round o shape, eyes closed. She has a flush high on her cheeks, and her hands are curled into the white sheet beneath her. 

He sees red though, when he realises exactly what is going on. 

There is a black haired wastrel kissing across her collar bones.  
He snaps the charcoal in his hand, reducing it to dust in his fury. The paper from his notepad is next, and for the hell of it, he decides the rock he’s sitting on is just as guilty and is destroyed. 

His black mood lasts for far longer than he’s willing to admit. 

For the next few years, whenever he gets the feeling that he’s about to see her again, he ignores it, pushes it away as best he can, though he isn’t in control of all of them, some of them sneak in when he’s not paying enough attention. 

He sees her smile and dreams about it for a week, wishes it was longer. 

…………….

The best vision, though, is his first clue to finding her. 

She’s sitting at an elaborate writing desk, reading a letter, tapping her fingers against the sturdy wood.  
He can see the ring, that infernal wedding ring that had been haunting his waking (and sleeping) moments.  
The desk is close to a window, and the late morning sun is streaming through, bathing her in a golden glow, her morning dress looking delightfully soft. There is a lovely flush to her cheeks, so delightfully warm, all peaches and cream and he longs to be next to her, to bask in her warmth.  
She’s silent, save for the occasional sigh as she reads the lengthy letter. 

It’s the first real sound he had ever heard from her, and he wonders if it will sound the same against his chest, or when he kisses her. 

He peers over her shoulder at the letter, the date at the top reads 28th September 1701. 

Oh. 

He looks back at the letter, hoping to get some more information, surely there would be one single word that would lead him to her in vicinity at the right time and-  
He would fine tune the details later. 

The letter appears to be from her sister, recently married who was recounting her honeymoon, but only the most boring details. (Though it occurs to him later, maybe her sister was bored of her new husband already, and that’s why the letter was so boring)

Caroline looks so bored, the hand not holding the letter is tapping out a rhythm on the desk. Heaving a final sigh, she sets the letter down, leaning back in a slouch, a pose that would have ladies everywhere twittering about how uncouth she looked.  
“Ah, Anna,” she spoke, her maid entering the room, a sitting room he thought, definitely not a bedroom. “Imagine spending your honeymoon in the moors?” well that didn’t help, though her accent was decidedly English.  
Her voice was a delight, a new facet of her that he hadn’t had before, and it fuelled all sorts of thoughts about how her voice would sound in a hundred different scenarios. But he had to concentrate, he could feel it fading, the vision of her, and he needed some more details. How could he find her, where was she? 

He knew in 1701 she would be in a sitting room, reading a letter from her sister, sitting in a warm patch of sunshine, speaking with her maid. 

Now, to hunt. 

…………….

CAROLINE 1695

She hates this dress more than anything else she has ever worn, likely due to the reasons she had to wear it more than the dress itself.  
This wedding was not something either of them desired, but it was something that her father was insisting on.  
The Lockwood’s were an old family, with a title and plenty of status and dwindling coffers. Her father and grandfather had amassed wealth more than they needed, but because it was new money, the people of society weren’t interested in the two Forbes girls. 

William Forbes had married his elder daughter off for entry into the gentlemen’s club of his wishes. 

She couldn’t refuse the marriage, she would be cut off, cast out with no money and no prospects. Even her friends wouldn’t want to help her.  
For a girl of only seventeen, it was too big a thought for her to bear. 

Anna curled another piece of hair, securing it to her head with yet another pin.  
“Sit still miss Caroline” she chided her, and so she tried to sit as still as possible, closing her eyes and drifts, letting Anna have her way with her hair. 

It was then that she saw him, for the first time.

He was knelt before her, looking at her through his lashes, her hand in his, his touch searing through her gloves. 

The sight of the man was over as soon as it had begun, and she didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t a dream, of that she was sure, seeing as she was awake, and the tugging on her hair from Anna meant there was no possible way for her to be asleep.  
She hadn’t seen the man before, but she had seen enough to know it wasn’t Lord Lockwood, her intended. No, this man has dirty blond curls, where Lockwood is dark, his ips curved into a sinful smile, where Lockwood only ever had his lips pressed into a thin line when he saw her.  
No, he was burnt honey curls, and sinful raspberry lips and darkened blue eyes. So blue.  
And the want in those dark eyes, it made her shiver delicately, even under the layers of her dress. 

*****

The next time she sees him is the day after she is told she is a widow. 

A widow, at twenty one. 

She is not expected to be anywhere today, so she sends away her dresser and tells Anna she wants a tray in her room.  
Anna had refused to leave her side, sending for things as needed, tea, the little fruit tarts she likes. She has been shooting her mistress worried looks but keeping silent.

She had refused to let Caroline move the settee though, and had called for a pair of footmen to come and arrange the furniture to her mistress's desire.  
Anna had tried to get her to dress, but Caroline felt no desire to do anything but sit in her nightgown and robe, and work through what this would mean for her now. She knows that Tyler wouldn’t have thought to make provisions for his widow, she had enough of her own money, for now, though knows that her father would rather have her married than do give her more money. 

She’s pretending to read, looking over the Lockwood estate lake from her window, when the vision hits her.

The same man as last time, lounging on a high backed chair, something regal and arrogant about the tilt of his head, the way his legs were akimbo. 

He looked exactly the same as she had seen him last time, though this time there was blood soaking his chin and shirt, dripping from the fingers of his left hand, where he held something fleshy and dark, offering it up to her. 

She gave a loud shout in fright, causing Anna to prick her finger and drop her sewing as she ran to her mistress' side. 

…………….

She has confusing nightmares for months after that, of the dangerous man, and he was clearly dangerous, the set of his mouth as he offered her up a bloody fleshy mess made her nervous, left her with a cold sweat.  
But no, the nightmares were not about him, she had the most sure feeling that he wouldn’t harm her. The nightmares were about something much worse, about a chasm in her chest if she didn't meet him. 

The nightmares were a yearning, a want that pressed into her bones, left her hands curling into her sheets. The nights she woke in a cold sweat left her terrified, tears on her cheeks, crying out for a man she had never met. 

Her situation was a perilous one, and it made her anxious in the extreme. Her mother in law was attempting to push her off onto her dead husband's cousin, hoping to retain William Forbes wealth.  
She hoped that the coming season would bring answers, they were desperately needed. 

…………….

(1703, London)  
She isn’t entirely sure how, but the image of him, flesh dripping blood from his fingers, fades.  
Maybe it’s all the lovely things she sees of him instead.  
She has lost count of the amount of times she has been in his arms dancing. The outfits she wears in these moments are always stunning, beyond her wildest imaginations. In these moments, his hands hold her so gently, they linger at her waist, brushing across her bare arms, always bordering on indecent for society, but he doesn’t seem to care, sometimes she thinks he is doing it on purpose to bait her into a reaction.  
Once she thinks she sees a flash of bloody fingers intertwined, but it is over far too soon before she is sure. She decides to mark it as a moment of imagination extending from that first terrifying image. 

Mostly, she tries to avoid thinking about it, imagining that the moments she sees of him are the result of an overactive imagination, left over from her being lonely, rattling around in her family's townhouse, returning calls and giving luncheons and being bored out of her mind. 

Tonight, she isn't thinking of him at all, standing in the ballroom, talking to some acquaintance or another, idly talking about the affairs of the evening, the rumours circulating, silently bemoaning being a desirable widow in the height of the season. 

It’s almost as bad as her first season, before she had been engaged. The men were interested only in her father’s business interest, the heavy jewels around her neck, the expensive silk of her dress.  
Her dances are made up of boring conversation about business and what their family’s did.  
She is looking around the room, half hiding behind her fluttering fan, when she sees him. 

Her breath is removed forcibly from her body, her fan stops its motion, and droops in her hand. 

The only thought in her mind is astonishment. 

Because he is here, a real person in front of her, her sight is filling up with him. When he looks up, and his eyes meet hers, there is no surprise there, and though his eyes soften around the edges, he looks delighted.  
His handsome face is smiling at her, and she can’t do anything but stare at him in a most unladylike fashion, she’s sure her mouth is hanging open.  
He’s not supposed to be real, he isn’t supposed to exist outside of her head.  
He’s filling up her sight, and she can’t see anything but his blue eyes, those sinful lips, his hair curling ever so slightly about his ears. She is still clutching her drooping fan, her hand lax in it’s grip.  
She breaks his delighted eye contact when there is a polite throat clearing next to her, and she turns on reflex. 

It brings her back into the ballroom, the noise and heat rushing back to her at once, and her mouth feels dry, a cold sweat dripping down her back.  
She makes a half hearted noise, excusing herself, though she doesn’t know what words come out of her mouth, making for the refreshments. When she looked about for him again, the non-imaginary man was gone, like he never even existed. She refuses to acknowledge the crushing disappointment she feels.  
Before she can look back to the refreshments, there is a familiar hand holding a delicate glass of wine out for her. 

“That’s presumptuous of you,” is the first thing she can say, meeting his still delighted eyes “offering a lady a drink without so much as an acquaintance” to this he only smiles.  
“Oh, but I do know you sweetheart”  
She represses an eyeroll, knowing that someone would be watching, would cause the gossip to run rampant through the ballroom.  
Any of her hard fought freedom she held, would be lost in an instant if she was caught behaving like that in the midst of this crowd.  
She takes the wine as angrily as she can manage with the delicate glass and the prying eyes. 

“Are you going to introduce yourself at least?,” she asks after taking a sip, noting the odd flavour of the wine. He’s still watching her carefully, each movement carefully categorised and hidden behind those eyes.  
Oh those eyes.  
“Niklaus Mikaelson” He speaks well, very smooth, he has a slight accent in the way he shapes his vowels, though she doesn’t recognise it.  
“A pleasure to meet you sweetheart” he’s looking at her expectantly, and she almost frowns at him, though she won’t, no matter how much he clearly deserves it. He’s breaking all the rules, couldn’t even get someone to introduce them.  
“Caroline For- Lockwood” she corrects herself, not used to introducing herself. He really was being very rude. She purses her lips.  
“You’re being very presumptuous you know” and at this he smiles, wide and genuine, gives a small laugh and shifts closer. She has half a mind to call for a companion, she feels like a young maid in need of a chaperone with the way his eyes track her. 

…………….

Klaus is having a lot of fun.  
She- Caroline- looks furious, though she is doing an admirable job of keeping the expression from her face, but from the way her eyes flash, he wonders what is going through her mind.  
He couldn’t resist spiking her wine, just in case.  
He had finally, finally found her, he wasn’t going to be taking any chances. Humans really were a fragile group, and he would not lose her after having taken so long to find her. 

He’s been watching her for close to a month, and had finally traced her to her dead husband's London townhouse, where she had been meeting her mother in law for tea, had followed her home to her own house, had installed hybrids in her house, posing as a butler, a footman and a maid or two.  
Finding her with only a date and a first name had been surprisingly vexing, but he had managed it all the same, and there she was, across a crowded ballroom.  
She was so lovely, he couldn’t find the right words, too many clamouring in his mind for the honour. Resplendent, stunning, celestial, glorious, divine, none of them seemed to fit. 

She was talking to someone, a man, Klaus had barely spared him a glance, had immediately found her face, memorising the flush of warmth in her cheeks, the polite smile pasted onto her face, the boredom in her eyes.  
He can see the lovely line of her shoulders, the delicate line of her chin, her cream skin glowing under the candlelight.  
She’s a vision.  
She’s idly chatting, some boring gossip about someone they both knew, when she looks about the room, meeting his eyes. 

She looks so surprised, her eyes widening, jaw dropping, and the fan that had been slowly creating a small breeze in the overheating room stopped, limply hanging from her hand. 

He smiles in delight, this is even better than he had imagined. 

As her eyes take in his face, she looks like she cannot believe the events transpiring in front of her, she’s hardly blinking, small short gasps of breath, her friend is still prattling away, by the sound of it, issuing an invitation to dance.  
His smile grows as he realises she isn’t paying attention to her companion, has totally forgotten he was even there, so focussed she is on staring at Klaus. 

She finally looks away when her companion clears his throat in an attempt at being polite, as she has yet to respond to his request to dance and she turns on reflex.  
He moves immediately, making his way toward her, keeping his eyes on her across the room. After dismissing her friend, she looks back to where he was previously, a look of devastation crossing her face, though she tamps it down quickly. 

Delight sings through his veins, his wolf demanding insistently under his skin that he make his way to her.  
He has made his way over to the table where there are refreshments, and collects two glasses, quickly slicing his thumb with his nail to add a few drops of his blood to hers.  
He’s not taking any chances. There are plans in the works for another original to join the family, but he would be prepared for any eventuality. 

He turns just as she’s approaching, she looks distracted, disappointed, curious.  
She looks too warm, so he holds up the glass, his smile still delighted, eyes warm, a look of incredulity crosses her face at his forward advances. 

“That’s presumptuous of you, offering a lady a drink without an acquaintance” she looks like she wants to frown, but won’t in the middle of the ballroom. 

The first words she has ever said to him, and she’s telling him off.

“Oh, but I do know you sweetheart” the flush on her cheeks darkens, no longer just the overwarm room.  
She takes the glass, sipping at it. A look of distaste, and he knows she has registered the odd taste in the wine. She doesn’t comment.  
He tries to find words, for a moment, though nothing is coming to mind. He had been seeing her in his mind for so long, had witnessed so many moments with her, that he had never stopped to wonder if she saw him too. For a brief second, he was sure that she hadn’t, that the entire thing was something made up in his head, that he had imagined the recognition in her eyes when she had seen him.  
She cleared her throat,  
“Are you going to introduce yourself at least?” there’s a drop of dark red wine on her lips, and he longs to catch it with his own lips.  
Instead, he dimples at her, knowing from his investigation that she was fond of rules. It was probably killing her that he was talking to her without being properly introduced. He could have found a mutual acquaintance to introduce them, or he could have compelled someone, but he didn’t want this first meeting to have anyone else present.  
He wanted it to be just for them.  
It was bad enough that they were in the middle of a ballroom, but he was impatient and he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

He gives his name without hesitation, waiting for hers. She slips, starts to use her father’s name, correcting quickly enough that a human wouldn’t notice, but he did.  
She still looks indignant, pursing her lips, eyes darting around like she wants to call for help, but there is no one close enough for her to call to. 

“You really are being very presumptuous you know” she tells him as disapprovingly as she can be in public, and he can’t help but chuckle, taking a step closer, and can feel his legs brushing against her impressive ball gown. 

He wants to make an inappropriate comment about seeing her in his dreams, but given she had just told him off for introducing himself, he didn’t anticipate that would be well met. 

“Would you like to dance?” he says instead, taking her glass and setting it down, offering his hand.

She still looks like she wants to tell him off, but allows her hand to rest in his, and he tugs her gently forward, taking her in his arms. He knows it’s against all the rules, but he can’t find it in himself to care, not when she is here and real and in his arms, finally. 

…………….

Months after that first meeting, and he still leaves her reeling, on the back foot, never sure of herself.  
Caroline had been lying awake in her bed, tossing and turning since her maid had left late last night. She sighed, rolling over to look out the window, the sky was turning grey. Maybe it was time to give up on sleep.  
If she was being honest, she was confused and annoyed, specifically with Klaus. 

Ever since their first meeting in that crowded ballroom, she had seen him almost constantly. He was forever thinking up excuses for them to spend time together, either at a house party, or taking her out promenading, outings with his sister for bonnets and frippery. She had dined with his siblings countless times, both at their house, and hers, and if she didn’t see him, he was sending her gifts. Lovely trinkets from across the world, jewelry, expensive fabrics, sketches of her in last night’s gown, exaggerations of people’s hideous outfits that made her smile and shake her head. 

He wrote her lovely little letters and notes, entertaining her with stories of his siblings, amusing snippets of his day, things he had seen that made him laugh, or a beautiful painting. 

It had been much talked about throughout the ton, everyone was aware he was courting her. And everyone was wondering why he had yet to make an offer for her.  
There had been a very public, and a very private introduction to her parents. And they had liked him excessively. Her father had even pulled her aside to tell her that when Klaus asked, her father would bestow his blessing freely and enthusiastically. 

When he made no offer, Caroline assumed that he would try to seduce her into an affair. The way he looked at her left no doubt that he wanted her, but while he skirted the line of propriety, behaving in a manner that left her blushing and frowning and giggling behind her fan, he never attempted to cross it.  
He’d become a very permanent fixture in her life, and she had become extremely fond of having him there, but he hadn’t made plans to make it permanent. As a woman, she had very little say in how he should conduct himself, which left her frustrated and flummoxed, unable to make any plans. 

Throwing back the covers she rang for her maid, deciding to start her day early. 

The early start annoyed her stern butler, Stanley, and he was currently huffing around the breakfast room. She hid a smile in her chocolate quickly wiping her face when he turned around.  
Flicking through the paper, devouring tiny bites of buttery apple pastry, mentally running through all her past interactions with Klaus, looking for any indication of his intentions, any clue that might tell her what he wanted from her.  
She’s about to ask for more chocolate to be brought up from the kitchen when the front door bell rings through the quiet house, causing her to frown. 

If it had been too early for her to be awake, then it was definitely too early for visitors, and her butler is likely to be politely furious, his normal morning routine being rapidly thrown off course.  
There is a faint exchange of words, before the sound of Stanley’s shoes click on the hardwood back to the breakfast room. 

“I am very sorry my lady, but Mr Mikaelson is at the door, requesting to see you. He was most insistent” he looks like he wants to frown, and Caroline fights not to let a smile slip through.  
Caroline refolds her paper, and wipes her fingers across her face and dress, making sure there are no stray crumbs, clearing her throat.

“It’s quite alright Stanley. Please set another place, and bring some more chocolate, some coffee as well” she adds, remembering his preference.  
“Maybe more of the pastries, some fruit, some meat?” She dislikes eating meat in the morning, but she is nothing if not a gracious host, even to one who has come by so unexpectedly.  
She’s thankful that she’s at least dressed, instead of coming down to breakfast in her nightgown and dressing gown as she had originally planned to.  
“Right away my lady” he rushed out, and she could hear him issuing the requests to the footmen, going to fetch Mr Mikaelson, Klaus, from the front hall. 

She smiled at Andrew as he set the required place, the second footman, the new one whose name she could never remember setting more food on the side table.  
Klaus looked as dashing as he always did, despite the early morning, his dimples appearing as he smiled at her.  
“Good morning sweetheart” he said, scandalously. She frowned at him, despite the rush of affection she felt at the epithet. He insisted on the pet names, often when he shouldn’t, and always in front of people who had the ability to spread horrible rumours, though somehow, they never did. 

“Good morning,” she replied, rather primly, using her hand to gesture to the seat across from her, rather than sitting though, he took her hand, pressing his lips to the back of it, bowing ever so slightly as he did, and she refrained from telling him off in front of both footmen and an overly interested butler. She reminded herself that she was annoyed with him, with his lack of intention.  
Rather than being deterred, Klaus poured himself some coffee, selecting morsels from the side table and taking the offered seat. She caught Stanley's eye, and then nodded pointedly at the footmen, he thankfully took the hint for what it was and ushered the footmen out of the room, resuming his spot silently. 

“How are you?” she asked when he was appropriately situated, very aware of Stanley watching carefully, taking his job as chaperone seriously. Never mind that Caroline was a wealthy widow, able to conduct her own affairs, or that she could be considered a chaperone in her own right.  
It was beyond scandalous that Klaus had shown up here so early, without an invitation, and as delighted as she was to see him, it only served to remind her how annoyed she was with him. 

“Just fine, it’s going to be a lovely day” he was being obtuse on purpose, she knew. Her annoyance grew, she sighed, watching as he ate a few bites, sipped at his coffee.  
The least he could do was tell her why he was here, so early. He didn't even have the decency to wait for a proper hour, he should have at least waited until it was appropriate calling hours. 

“Do you have plans for today?” he asked, bringing her out of her ruminations, and she poured herself another chocolate, waving Stanley off when he tried to help.  
“I have been invited to dine with Mrs Kitteridge tonight, though I-” she broke off. She didn't want to dine with Mrs K, she was an insufferable gossip, and had more than enough to say about Klaus. It brought all of her annoyance with him to the surface once more.  
“I expect some people will come to call today as well” she answered cautiously, she hadn’t planned to see him today, had dined with him and his siblings just last night. He hummed, watching as she resumed her apple pastry, they really were her favourite. 

“Would you be opposed if I took up some of your time?” he asked, and it brought her up short, and she studied his face in full. He looked as beautiful as he always did, though his curls were more wild than they usually were, and he looked like he had dressed in a hurry, his cravat as askew. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and a smattering of beard was showing across his cheeks. It was a good look for him, she was used to seeing him clean shaven, but she didn’t mind the change. It matched some of the dreams she had had of him, before they’d met, the ones she still did not have an answer for. 

“No, I would not,” she answered honestly, tilting her head to watch the almost nervous expression grow on his face with curiosity. 

*****

Klaus was nervous.  
Sitting across from her at her breakfast table, the apple pastry he’d eaten was sitting heavy in his throat, and he took another sip of coffee to try and dislodge it, to no avail.  
Being nervous was a normal feeling around Caroline, but this was a very new kind of nervous. Usually, he liked the nervousness she invoked in him, this though, was an entirely different kind of nerves. 

He knew that whatever happened next was entirely dependent on this conversation.  
He was similarly aware that his window of opportunity was shrinking, Mikael had boarded a boat and was heading to England, and their available time was dwindling quickly. 

Kol, in a moment of uncharacteristic seriousness, had all but forced him to speak with her. Had even sat down with him and let him practice how he was going to say it. He had stayed awake all night to talk him through it, was even waiting in the carriage outside, ready to intervene if necessary. The caution was unlike Kol, but Klaus was thankful for the support. 

He’d had several hybrids placed in Caroline’s household for additional protection. Stanley was his second in command, and had grown extremely protective of her, recognising that protecting his sire's mate was of the utmost importance. 

“Stanley, do you mind if I have a moment alone with Lady Caroline?” he asked before he could change his mind, a polite smile on his face, and Stanley raised an eyebrow, looking at Caroline, who was staring at Klaus, mouth open in shock. If he was a man of lesser control, he may have laughed at her expression.  
He lifted a shoulder, “if that’s alright with you sweetheart” at the epithet, she frowned a little, and he refrained from laughing. She had made it very clear he wasn’t to call her that, but he did, and they both pretended to not acknowledge the delight in her eyes whenever he said it. 

“Of course. I’ll ring if we need anything else” she sounded distracted, nervous, delicately dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, twisting it in her hands. 

Stanley stationed himself outside the door, taking his protection orders seriously, even if protecting Caroline meant protecting her from Klaus. 

He got up, moving around the table, to take the seat next to her, and Caroline turned to face him. He cleared his throat, trying again to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling, mentally running through the conversation points he had been practicing with Kol all night. 

Caroline watched him carefully, apprehension written plainly across her face, waiting for him to speak. To distract himself, he reached out and picked up her hand, taking it between both of his, and she smiled at him, though she was clearly anxious for him to say something. 

“Are you quite alright?” she asked after a long minute of silence, her hand gripping his tightly, the contact leaving his skin tingling, his wolf purring in delight. 

“I am trying to find the right words to tell you something” he felt as her hand became clammy, and she looked outright worried now, and he was sure that her mind was racing to all sorts of incorrect conclusions. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I, and my family, are a little different” he began, and she nodded, wary, waiting, a flicker of annoyance across her brow. 

There was no easy way to say it, so he decided to run through the family's story as simply as he could.  
“What does that mean?” she asked quietly, and he took heart in the fact that she hadn’t let go of his hand. He smiled gently,  
“It’s a bit of a long story” when she didn’t say anything, he began.

“Well, we used to have another brother, Henrik, he was the youngest, but when he was killed by wolves, my mother, a very powerful witch,” at this her eyes flew to his in shock, but before she could ask any questions, he had a finger over her mouth, stopping her from what he was sure would be a barrage of questions.  
“Wait until the end my sweet” she frowned but allowed him to continue. 

“Well, my mother was devastated, and she was determined to find a way to protect her remaining children. She created a spell that created us, made us immortal, so that none of her children would ever be in such harm again.” She was still breathing normally, her heart only slightly louder than before, as she didn’t seem to be about to pass out, he decided to press on.  
“The first few weeks were the most intense, our new abilities making everything much more intense. We craved the sun, but couldn’t go into it without pain, craved blood, even when full,” at this her eyes were wide, disbelieving, but he didn’t give her time to ask any questions. 

“It was a very difficult time for us, the craving was almost too much, and at any moment we were in danger of being overtaken by our bodies' demands for blood. I tried so hard, but the craving was too much, and one day I went too far, and killed a member of the village we lived in. It was then that I found out the man I had thought was my father was not” her mouth was a round ‘oh’ the surprise written across her face, though he wasn’t sure if it was his casual mention of murder, the fact that his mother had been unfaithful to Mikael, or if she was starting to understand what he was telling her about his family.  
He smiled slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. 

“I found out that day that I was a wolf. My father was a member of the neighbouring village, wolf people who lived as humans, but during the full moon became wild wolves. Mikael discovered the truth, and forced my mother to bind my wolf. Mikael was furious in his rage, he killed my mother after forcing her to bind me, his rage at her infidelity too much”  
He paused for a moment, remembering the way Mikael’s face had contorted, the sound that his mother’s heart made as it was removed from her body, the horrific look plastered across her face as she fell to the ground, gaping hole in her chest. Rebekah’s screams as she found them, Mikael holding Klaus against a tree by the throat, Esther’s corpse at their feet, Mikael’s bloody hand. 

It wasn’t something he liked to think about, even now. 

She was gasping now, and he squeezed her hand, watching her face carefully.  
“Being a wolf gave me more strength, and proved to Mikael that I was not part of his family. He was always cruel, especially towards me, and when he found out, it was like something in him turned on all of us. He tried to kill us, and we fled our home in the middle of the night, we’ve been running from him ever since, trying to stay alive” He fell silent. It’s an awkward story to tell, and he’s never been in the position where he had to tell someone else.  
It was not the full story, and not nearly detailed enough, but it was enough for now, Caroline was gaping at him, shock written across her face. She dropped his hand, nervously twisting her fingers, the colour long drained from her face.  
He waited for her reaction, the longer she was silent, the more nervous he got. She wasn’t screaming, but her heart rate was elevated, her breath coming faster.  
She opened her mouth, though there were still no words, he sighed, wondering if she would object if he gave her some scotch to help calm her down. Looking around, there are no decanters in sight, which when he thinks on it, isn’t odd at all, given this is the breakfast room. 

“Caroline, love, where is your scotch?” her eyes darted to his, wide and nervous. He wonders if she is going to pass out.  
Maybe he shouldn’t have left Kol in the carriage, it would be useful to have an ally at present.  
She can’t string the words together, and he attempts a smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

“Stanley,” he’s in front of Klaus in a flash, no longer hiding his hybrid nature from his mistress. She barely noticed, still staring blindly at Klaus.  
He bids Stanley to bring scotch or brandy, some glasses and a damp towel, before resuming his post outside the door.  
Pouring a heavy measure for Caroline, he pushes it into her hands, helping her raise the glass to her lips.  
After the first taste, she takes a small sip, then a larger one, then downs the entire drink, without so much as a shiver, much to his surprise. 

He has never seen her drink anything stronger than wine, but she splashes more scotch into her glass, gulping that down in one go as well. Fills it a third time, but doesnt drink, holding it tightly, her fingers white around the glass.  
He merely sits and watches the emotions pass over her face, thankfully, the scotch has helped to bring back some of her colour. 

“Okay. So what does this mean, for me” she eventually asks, quietly. He’s glad to hear her talking, even though he’s not entirely sure what she means.  
“In what way?” he asks, draining his own glass. He idly thinks that maybe he should have waited until they were both drunk for this conversation. Or if he had followed Rebekah’s advice, turned her and then dealt with the fallout.  
She frowns staring down at the glass in her hands.  
“What I want to know is, how does this affect me?” the words are a little more forceful this time, and he thinks about the best way to answer, watching as she flushes with warmth after her two glasses.  
“What was your plan for me? Surely you must have had one? Are you going to kill me? Or was I some kind of distraction from a long list of dalliances” her voice catches, and there's a hard look in her eyes. 

“No.” His response is fierce, a growl rumbling in his chest, the wolf vehemently opposed to her suggestions.  
“No one will harm you. Ever.” he states firmly, and hears Stanley's quiet echoing rumble of agreement. 

“There is no one else. There will be no one else” his response is fierce, a growl rumbling in his chest. If she is surprised, she doesn’t show it, though she takes another long sip of her drink. 

“Okay. Then I ask again, what does this mean for me?” he’s a little confused at her insistence. 

She had to know he loved her, that she was his whole heart.  
As for what he wanted, well.  
He wanted her, for the rest of his life, for the rest of hers.  
He wanted everything he had seen in his visions and more. He wanted the quiet moments with her, and the big moments, and he wanted to be by her side, always.  
He wanted to dig into her spine the way she had dug into his, he wanted to know what she looked like before she woke up. He wanted to devour her in large bites and small, and wanted to give everything of himself to her, to be hers, for her to be his.  
Without a shadow of a doubt.  
He wanted her to come with him when they left, of her own volition. 

But it was dangerous.  
Tying himself to her anymore than he already has would be detrimental, he had many enemies, scattered across the globe, and they were always searching, forever waiting on a weakness.  
As the most feared hybrid there is no way he could be part of a paltry human ceremony, it would put her in danger, his heart left out in the open for anyone to exploit. 

“Well, a wedding is out of the question, and, to be honest, it hadn't occurred to me that you would want to get married a second time” and truthfully, he had not considered it. A wedding was definitely not going to happen, it would draw far too much attention to them, attention they could not afford with Mikael already on his way to them, not to mention it would take too long, at best they only had three weeks left in England before he was in the country, and that was a generous estimation. 

When he told her as much, she flushed red, shaking her head before he was finished. 

“So you mean to tell me that you have been leading me about town, ingratiating yourself with my friends, and my sister, even my mother and father. You introduced me to your family” she’s aghast, standing from her chair abruptly, letting it clatter loudly to the floor. Though she doesn't spare a glance for the fallen chair, he does. 

The flush is definitely not from the alcohol, he realises slowly, its fury rising slowly on her cheeks.

“What I want to know is why you have led me on for months. You have been toying with me, with my feelings. You have lied to me, this entire time” he tries to speak, to calm her down, but she cuts him off with a fierce look.  
“What was I, a...a distraction for you to toy with?” Her face is getting redder, her fury has her limbs shaking, curls bouncing, voice catching, the scent of tears in the air, though none fall. 

She gives an angry sort of snarl and starts pacing around the room, her skirts an angry swish, her steps firm, her voice raising the more she talks, the glass of scotch still firm in her right hand, the liquid moving about the glass, dangerously close to the lip of the glass.  
“All the while, you’ve been sending me pretty little gifts, while leading me on and letting me believe,” she stops herself, though the angry pacing continues. 

“Sweetheart, no, it’s not like that” he tries to interrupt again, but she isn’t having it.  
“I thought that meeting you, the dreams, the pet names,” she’s outright yelling now,  
“I thought it all meant something, like fate or destiny, or that you were meant to be mine, that you were going to give me the life I wanted. That you were-“ at this she stops again, cutting off whatever she was going to say.  
He’s delighted at the admission of her dreams, they hadn’t talked about it before, and up until this moment, he wasn’t entirely sure that she had them. He isn’t delighted at the anger she’s exhibiting, but he’s sure that he can calm her down. 

Maybe. 

“None of that was a lie, love, I am yours” her eyes flash in warning at his pet name, pure fury and fire in her eyes.  
“Well what do you want to call it” her voice is scathing, and he’s beginning to think he’s miscalculated. His wolf is brought up short, silent, watching, leaving the talking up to the man, not that the man is doing a good job just now. 

“Well…I, that is,” he’s stuttering now, and it isn’t helping. It’s only making her madder, and he isn’t sure how to fix it.  
“Yes?” he has nothing to say in the face of her fury, staying silent. Which makes her even madder, the flush rising up her neck, he can see her hands shaking ever so slightly, the scotch glass still in her hand.  
“Because from where I am sitting, it looks like you have been lying to me for months, leading me about town, all while laughing at me behind my back with your siblings, silly little Caroline” she snarls, at this she throws the scotch glass she had held onto. 

Right at his head. 

He’s so shocked that he barely ducks in time, feels the glass whistle by his head, shattering against the wall, liquid splashing down. 

“Caroline, please calm down” she makes a furious, insensate noise, and picks up a plate, throwing that next, and he catches it before it can shatter.  
“Sweetheart,” he tries again, on his feet now, but she is already picking up his abandoned coffee cup, throwing that as well. She doesn’t stop there, and the sugar and cream is next, followed by the still full pot of hot chocolate.  
He manages to just catch the chocolate, though it slips over the side and spreads across his white shirt.  
“Don’t you tell me what to do, you’re a fucking liar” it’s the first time he’s heard her swear, and like the rest of her, he finds it delightful. But he is quickly distracted by the rest of the breakfast set being hurled at his head, he can’t catch all of it, so he ducks when he has to, his wolf growling under his skin to soothe his mates' anger amid the crashing china. 

She favours him with a glare that would maim if it could, her cheeks are flaming red, furious tears still blooming in her eyes. He makes a soothing noise, tries to approach her, to catch her wrist before she throws something else.  
She cuts him off with an inhuman growl, reaching for the decanter, at this he decides he has had enough, and flashes in front of her with hybrid speed, snatching the decanter as gently as he can.  
“That’s enough, love” he says softly, and for a moment, he thinks she has calmed down. 

Instead she scowls so darkly, and pushes at his chest, her hands firm on his chest, the heat of them burning him.  
“Get away from me” he’s surprised at the strength behind her hands, and takes a step back from her, setting the decanter down far out of her reach. 

“I think you should leave” she says, icily, and the words cut through his chest, the ice settling in his heart. 

“No.” he’s firm “not until we have talked about this” she laughs, brittle and sharp and he can hear how loud her heart is pounding, smelling the salt of her tears in the air. He is very confused about what is happening here, and he has no idea how this conversation got so off track.  
She thinks he doesnt love her, and that will not stand. 

“I thought you wanted to marry me. Now I find out you’ve no intention of doing so. You’re going to leave. Now. ” her breath catches in her throat, but she pushes forward. “I will not live forever Klaus, and you will. I do not know what else there is to say” He’s shaking his head before she’s finished. 

“Caroline, my love, my heart, there is everything left to say” the fight leaves her, and her ramrod straight back softens, and he takes this as a safe moment to approach. He leads her to a chair, kneels in front of her, holding both of her hands, watching her from beneath his lashes.  
“There is so much beauty in this world. I will lay it at your feet, if you will let me. But being married? It will mean a target on your back, one that I am not willing to subject you to. I have so many enemies. It is better if they do not know of you” he’s soft, his hands curling around hers, watching as her eyes widen, and fill with tears. 

“I-I’m not sure I understand. You would keep me a mistress, a shameful secret?” her voice is hoarse, and her brow furrows.  
“Klaus, I-” she was looking at him with wide eyes, the mix of emotions too riotous to read.  
“Caroline, I know it isn't something we have talked about, but I will have to leave soon, and I would like nothing more than to have you come with me” she could do nothing but blink at him in surprise, it was written all over her face. 

She took a deep breath, standing, loosening the hold his hands have on hers. She looks down at him, still kneeling on her breakfast room rug, says as coldly as she can manage.  
“I’d like you and Stanley to please leave. I would like some space, and I do not want to see you-” he’s on his feet, a protest dying in his throat as she scowls at him.  
“I want you to leave my home, and take your, your hybrid with you. Thank you” with that final furious statement, she turned to the window, her back to him. It was rigid and straight, and he felt a fissure of fear through his heart. Her back was straight, immovable, and there was a slight tremor to her curls.  
He doesn't know how his intention had been ruined so thoroughly, but he was leaving, with none of his goals achieved.  
“As you wish it then” he stood, took a deep breath and left the room, checking over his shoulder at her figure, she was peeking over her shoulder at him, and when he met her eyes, she flushed, and turned away. He frowned. 

This was going to set his timeframe back significantly.


End file.
